


I loved and I loved and I lost you.

by angelica_barnes



Series: ABC [16]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Merlin (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Heaven & Hell, Homophobia, M/M, Reincarnation, Repetition, Sorry?, basically plotless, homosexuality is a sin even though, it is most definitely not, kinda sort of, mostly Hell, not actually there but, so like they're being punished for loving each other, this is basically based off the concept that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-23 21:13:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20014876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelica_barnes/pseuds/angelica_barnes
Summary: He is fifteen and falls in love with a king.He is nineteen when he meets the scrappy writer.He is infinite but looks to be twenty-eight when he meets a hunter who wears camp bracelets and calls him family.He is seven when he is saved by a soldier.16. punishment





	I loved and I loved and I lost you.

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from "Hurts Like Hell" by Fleurie
> 
> also based off "It’s All Coming Back To Me" by Celine Dion
> 
> and probably "My Heart Will Go On" too
> 
> hope you enjoy

**my punishment is to watch you die**

**over and over again and always**

**be helpless to stop it.**

**\- MM**

  
  


**1.**

He is fifteen and falls in love with a king. He shouldn’t. This king will kill him, given the chance.

They kiss in the candlelight. The king marries a servant girl.

He dies with the murder of his king and walks on for centuries, the flames licking at his feet.

“I am tired,” he says, “I am tired,” but the Lord does not listen and they lock him away and he cannot see anything but his king’s smile.

**13.**

He is nineteen when he meets the scrappy writer. They fall into bed together in the tents on the battlefront and their pleasured moans are disguised with those of pain from the infirmary, and they say no words of love but they are written, written and read and burned with the candles he keeps at his wife’s house.

His writer marries a beautiful girl and has children with her and when their first baby boy is brought into the world, he leaves it and his writer, he hopes, doesn’t cry.

“I am broken,” he rasps, “I am broken,” but the Lord does not listen and they lock him away and he cannot see anything but his writer’s words.

**27.**

He is infinite but looks to be twenty-eight when he meets a hunter who wears camp bracelets and calls him family. He would rather the hunter kill him, break him, do something other than be careful with him because he cannot love somebody so human, so young. He refuses to ruin the hunter’s lovely fire of a soul. The hunter won’t let him near his brother and he thinks that’s a wise choice but is still resigned.

His hunter loves him, loves him, but can never bring himself to tell him that and so he kills the hunter with a bloodied knife and ignores his pleas and feels both their hearts break as one of them stops beating and yet even as he wanders the universe in grief he cannot stop thinking of merciless green eyes and all they hold and all they mean.

“I am falling,” he whispers, “I am falling,” but the Lord does not listen and they lock him away and he cannot see anything but his hunter’s eyes.

**59.**

He is seven when he is saved by a soldier. The soldier’s grin is kind and his laugh infectious and he falls in love the moment they meet but boys cannot love each other the world teaches and though he knows his mother disagrees she will never tell him otherwise. He goes against his better judgement and kisses the soldier’s grin when he is fourteen and they hide in the shadows of the night and the dark of alleyways and they love, they love, they love.

He loses his soldier five times. First to an army, next to the snow, third to his mind and fourth to his choice and fifth to no less than a god, to the dust, to the abused powers taken by a tyrant.

He gives up when his soldier does and he cannot bring him back this time. It is time to accept that neither of them is the same and never will be and that they never should’ve loved in the first place because he has lost and lost and lost and he would rather he’d never loved because this pain is enough to kill him. A void left by loneliness could not have been much to bear.

“I am done,” he croaks, “I am done,” but the Lord does not listen and they lock him away and he cannot see anything but his soldier’s grin.

**74.**

He is sixteen and falls in love with a king. He shouldn’t. This king will murder him, given a reason.

They kiss in the moonlight. The king marries a foreign princess.

He fades with the death of his king and walks on for a  millennium , the waves tickling his feet.

“I am tired,” he says, “I am tired,” but the Lord does not listen and they take him away and he cannot hear anything but his king’s laughter.

**86.**

He is twenty when he meets the hungry writer. They fall into bed together in the backroom of a bar and their pleasured moans are disguised with those of irritation from the hungover, and they say no words of love but they are written, written and read and destroyed with the matches he finds at his father’s mansion.

His writer marries a beautiful woman and has beautiful children with her and when their first baby boy is brought onto the earth, he leaves it and his writer, he hopes, doesn’t rage.

“I am broken,” he rasps, “I am broken,” but the Lord does not listen and they take him away and he cannot hear anything but his writer’s pleas.

**115.**

He is infinite but looks to be twenty-nine when he meets a hunter who wears a watch and calls him family. He would rather the hunter murder him, torture him, do something other than be passionate with him because he cannot love someone so fragile, so mortal. He refuses to sicken the hunter’s lovely flame of a soul. The hunter won’t let him near his brother and he thinks that’s a wise choice but is still disappointed.

His hunter loves him, loves him, but can never bring himself to admit to him that and so he ends the hunter with a bloodied knife and ignores his prayers and feels both their hearts sever as one of them stops beating and yet even as he treks the universe in grief he cannot stop dreaming of merciless green eyes and all they keep and all they represent.

“I am falling,” he whispers, “I am falling,” but the Lord does not listen and they take him away and he cannot hear anything but his hunter’s cries.

**132.**

He is eight when he is rescued by a soldier. The soldier’s grin is teasing and his laugh contagious and he falls in love the moment they meet but boys cannot love each other society teaches and though he knows his mother says not she will never tell him so. He goes against his better judgement and kisses the soldier’s grin when he is fifteen and they bask in the shadows of the night and the dark of alleyways and they love, they love, they love.

He loses his soldier five times. First to red, next to a train, third to his memory and fourth to his resignation and fifth to no worse than a god, to the ashes, to the misused influence mistreated by a tyrant.

He gives up when his soldier does and he cannot breathe him back this time. It is time to confess that neither of them is what they were and never will be and that they never should’ve loved in the first place because he has lost and lost and lost and he would rather he’d never loved because this agony is enough to end him. A hole left by loneliness could not have been anything in comparison.

“I am done,” he croaks, “I am done,” but the Lord does not listen and they take him away and he cannot hear anything but his soldier’s screams.

**148.**

He is seventeen and falls in love with a king. He shouldn’t. This king will execute him, given an incentive.

They kiss in the sunlight. The king marries a pleasant commoner.

He disappears with the killing of his king and walks on for  infinity , the rocks bruising his feet.

“I am tired,” he says, “I am tired,” but the Lord does not listen and they drag him away and he cannot taste anything but his king’s lips.

**166.**

He is twenty-one when he meets the orphan writer. They fall into bed together in the bedroom of an inn and their pleasured moans are disguised with those of annoyance from the floorboards, and they say no words of love but they are written, written and read and forgotten with the flintstones he borrows from his friend’s corpse.

His writer marries a beautiful muse and has beautiful children with her and when their first baby boy is brought forth from the familiar, he leaves it and his writer, he hopes, doesn’t mourn.

“I am broken,” he rasps, “I am broken,” but the Lord does not listen and they drag him away and he cannot taste anything but his writer’s skin.

**179.**

He is infinite but looks to be thirty when he meets a hunter who wears plaid and calls him family. He would rather the hunter exorcise him, maim him, do something other than be patient with him because he cannot love someone so vulnerable, so breakable. He refuses to poison the hunter’s lovely blister of a soul. The hunter won’t let him near his brother and he thinks that’s a wise choice but is still crestfallen.

His hunter loves him, loves him, but can never bring himself to confess to him that and so he extinguishes the hunter with a bloodied knife and ignores his truths and feels both their hearts shatter as one of them stops beating and yet even as he roams the universe in grief he cannot stop wondering about merciless green eyes and all they hide and all they are.

“I am falling,” he whispers, “I am falling,” but the Lord does not listen and they drag him away and he cannot taste anything but his hunter’s tears.

**181.**

He is nine when he is defended by a soldier. The soldier’s grin is bright and his laugh catching and he falls in love the moment they meet but boys cannot love each other people teach and though he knows his mother believes the opposite she will never tell him that. He goes against his better judgement and kisses the soldier’s grin when he is seventeen and they revel in the shadows of the night and the dark of alleyways and they love, they love, they love.

He loses his soldier five times. First to science, next to a valley, third to his past and fourth to his fear and fifth to no weaker than a god, to the embers, to the exploitation of ability by a tyrant.

He gives up when his soldier does and he cannot wish him back this time. It is time to recognize that neither of them is what they used to be and never will be and that they never should’ve loved in the first place because he has lost and lost and lost and he would rather he’d never loved because this ache is enough to bury him. An emptiness left by loneliness could not have been hard to live with when faced with this.

“I am done,” he croaks, “I am done,” but the Lord does not listen and they drag him away and he cannot taste anything but his soldier’s blood.

**203.**

He is eighteen and falls in love with a king. He shouldn’t. This king will burn him, given a cause.

They kiss in the daylight. The king marries no one at all.

He vanishes with the ending of his king and walks on for  infinity and longer , the dirt mucking up his feet.

“I am tired,” he says, “I am tired,” but the Lord does not listen and they pull him away and he cannot smell anything but his king’s sweat.

**217.**

He is twenty-two when he meets the stubborn writer. They fall into bed together in the cabin of a bachelor and their pleasured moans are disguised with those of sadness from the host, and they say no words of love but they are written, written and read and erased with the wood he collects from his general’s forests.

His writer marries a beautiful lady and has beautiful children with her and when their first baby boy is brought forward towards the light, he leaves it and his writer, he hopes, doesn’t grieve.

“I am broken,” he rasps, “I am broken,” but the Lord does not listen and they pull him away and he cannot smell anything but his writer’s breath.

**246.**

He is infinite but looks to be thirty-one when he meets a hunter who wears jeans and calls him family. He would rather the hunter be rid of him, abuse him, do something other than be gentle with him because he cannot love someone so easily taken apart, so easily ended. He refuses to corrupt the hunter’s lovely flicker of a soul. The hunter won’t let him near his brother and he thinks that’s a wise choice but is still dispirited.

His hunter loves him, loves him, but can never bring himself to acknowledge that and so he eliminates the hunter with a bloodied knife and ignores his confessions and feels both their hearts crack open as one of them stops beating and yet even as he drifts about the universe in grief he cannot stop musing about merciless green eyes and all they conceal and all they obtain.

“I am falling,” he whispers, “I am falling,” but the Lord does not listen and they pull him away and he cannot smell anything but his hunter’s cologne.

**252.**

He is ten when he is freed by a soldier. The soldier’s grin is carefree and his laugh compelling and he falls in love the moment they meet but boys cannot love each other the government teaches and though he knows his mother knows elsewise she will never tell him really. He goes against his better judgement and kisses the soldier’s grin when he is eighteen and they cover up in the shadows of the night and the dark of alleyways and they love, they love, they love.

He loses his soldier five times. First to incompetence, next to weak fingers, third to his programming and fourth to his insecurity and fifth to no more powerless than a god, to the cinders, to the maltreatment of strength by a tyrant.

He gives up when his soldier does and he cannot plead him back this time. It is time to realize that neither of them is what they knew before and never will be and that they never should’ve loved in the first place because he has lost and lost and lost and he would rather he’d never loved because this hurt is enough to nullify him. A chasm left by loneliness could not have been less than a treat when compared.

“I am done,” he croaks, “I am done,” but the Lord does not listen and they pull him away and he cannot smell anything but his soldier’s decay.

**265.**

He is nineteen and falls in love with a king. He shouldn’t. This king will lynch him, given a motive.

They kiss in the starlight. The king dies too young to have ever married but he has an affair with one of his knights.

He is lost with the last breath of his king and walks on for  infinity and even more so , the insects nipping at his feet.

“I am tired,” he says, “I am tired,” but the Lord does not listen and they wear him away and he cannot feel anything but his king’s hands.

**294.**

He is twenty-three when he meets the bastard writer. They fall into bed together in the one he sleeps in with his wife and their pleasured moans are disguised with those of tiredness from the trees outside, and they say no words of love but they are written, written and read and felled with the alcohol he steals from his own pocket.

His writer marries a beautiful mistress and has beautiful children with her and when their first baby boy is brought north towards the stars, he leaves them and his writer, he hopes, doesn’t lament.

“I am broken,” he rasps, “I am broken,” but the Lord does not listen and they wear him away and he cannot feel anything but his writer’s arms.

**358.**

He is infinite but looks to be thirty-two when he meets a hunter who wears hiking boots and calls him family. He would rather the hunter encinorate him, maul him, do something other than be open with him because he cannot love someone so delicate, so susceptible to evil. He refuses to harm the hunter’s lovely blaze of a soul. The hunter won’t let him near his brother and he thinks that’s a wise choice but is still disconcerted.

His hunter loves him, loves him, but can never bring himself to voice it aloud and so he defeats the hunter with a bloodied knife and ignores his revelations and feels both their hearts fracture fully as one of them stops beating and yet even as he lingers around the universe in grief he cannot stop pondering merciless green eyes and all they camouflage and all they promise.

“I am falling,” he whispers, “I am falling,” but the Lord does not listen and they wear him away and he cannot feel anything but his hunter’s chest.

**400.**

He is eleven when he is protected by a soldier. The soldier’s grin is guileless and his laugh alluring and he falls in love the moment they meet but boys cannot love each other the church teaches and though he knows his mother begs to differ she will never tell him the truth. He goes against his better judgement and kisses the soldier’s grin when he is nineteen and they obscure themselves in the shadows of the night and the dark of alleyways and they love, they love, they love.

He loses his soldier five times. First to war, next to half efforts, third to his mentality and fourth to his selflessness and fifth to no more hesitant than a god, to the soot, to the injustice of greed by a tyrant.

He gives up when his soldier does and he cannot love him back this time. It is time to respect that neither of them is what they tried to be back then and never will be and that they never should’ve loved in the first place because he has lost and lost and lost and he would rather he’d never loved because this suffering is enough to silence him. A wound left by loneliness could not have been anything less than relief if compared.

“I am done,” he croaks, “I am done,” but the Lord does not listen and they wear him away and he cannot feel anything but his soldier’s mouth.

**1.**

Sometimes he’s sorry he ever loved at all, but still on and on it continues.

  
  


**I loved you then.**

**I love you still.**

**I always have and always will.**

**\- somebody**

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you enjoyed :) thanks for reading and sorry it's so repetitive


End file.
